


What happened to you?

by DemonicInformant



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) RPF
Genre: Flashbacks, Gavin's Not About To Let Him Feel That Way, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nines Thinks He's A Monster, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicInformant/pseuds/DemonicInformant
Summary: Nines can't stop the thought from springing into his head at every waking moment. Is he the monster he was created to be? If he is, how long will it be until Gavin sees him for what he actually is? Will he stay?
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor (mentioned), Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Kudos: 24





	What happened to you?

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration from the song "What Happened" by Emilie & Ogden

“What happened to you?” It was a simple question, something he never could answer, from the very first time it graced his ears. He never had an answer. Not the first, the twelfth, the hundred and oneth time he was asked. The reply was always the same, a curious brow quirking up and eyes dragging to the one who asked. The first he was ever asked, his hands were blue and red, stained with two different bloods, coated with the thickness of it. It reeked, but it had no smell. It burned, but to anyone else his hands were cold as ice. Thirium wasn’t warm, after all. Neither was blood, once it stained hands and clothes. It was just… liquid. Water with a color. He had no answer then, he gave no reply. Eyes simply rose from the corpses fallen before him to the barrel aimed at his forehead. “What happened to you?” He couldn’t remember, nothing was coming to the forefront of his mind. The blood wasn’t his, blue or red, and it wasn’t his partner’s. That was a good thing. ...Wasn’t it?

“Why’d you do that?” Eyes rose from paperwork to a coffee mug and steam. “I don’t drink,” he answered, but his hand reached to take the mug regardless. A gesture of peace, he told himself. Such bullshit. “Why’d you do that?” It was asked again, this time over a sip of that coffee. Made the way he preferred, no matter that he couldn’t -  _ didn’t need to  _ \- drink. Thoughtful, in a way, or maybe a piece of bargaining. Coffee made his way for an answer to the question burning in the human’s mind. “Why’d you kill him?” His grip tightened, his eyes zoned on the graphic printed on the ceramic of the mug. Silence was his answer. “Alright, fine, don’t trust me,” he heard, breaking his trance, his escape into his thoughts. A clacking noise echoed and the man was gone, vanishing to the break room again.  _ Why’d you kill him?  _ Why? A breath escaped him, shaky and shallow, threatening to overload him. A hand on his shoulder stole him again, tore him from his own head, forced him to focus on the world moving around him. “Are you alright?” He shrugged the hand off, set the mug down, and insisted he was fine. 

“What’re you so afraid of? That I might find out what you’re made of?” They were fighting. Of course they were. Wasn’t that just how it went? An argument spinned from nothing. A simple question that fell into raised voices and exaggerated hand movements. A shove, at one point. “Oh, I get it. I never get what I see with you, do I?” His jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists and he felt that overwhelming urge to swing rear its ugly head. “I paid my dues,” he answered, voice tight, “and I’ll be damned,” but he was interrupted, another shove knocking him from his steadfast balance. He wasn’t focused, of course he stumbled. Of course he hit the wall, he’d backed away after the first push. Of course he felt his system warm with anger, and of course he thought of nothing more than slamming those curled fingers into a stubble-shadowed jaw. “Why’d you fucking kill him, Nines?” He gave no answer, just like all the times before. “I’m leaving,” he bit, pushing from the wall to grab his coat. No hesitation to his movements, he was out the front door a mere moment later, a loud  _ Fuck!  _ to echo through the thin walls. 

They didn’t speak for a week. An eon, compared to their incredible closeness before the fight. They’d had plenty before that one, why was it any different? He didn’t have an answer. Just like with that damned question, he had no answer, nothing that fell from his lips with ease. It was a simple ask. Why was this time different? He knew why, but his partner didn’t. Day eight of their distance started with a cup of coffee, made the way  _ he _ liked it, set on his desk. When he inevitably came in twenty minutes later, an hour after when he was supposed to clock in, it still steamed, albeit slightly now. “What happened to you?” he inquired, giving the man a quick glance up and down. “You look like hell.” A hand waved his concern away. Brows furrowed and his eyes watched the man acquire that hot cup and disappear to the break room. “Gavin?” he called, but he received no answer.  _ What happened to you?  _

Knuckles rapped on the door. Scuffling noises echoed through the wood, a distant call for him to hold on. He waited patiently, counted each little scratch on the door frame. No doubt from moving furniture in and out. Likely a few dings from missed keys on drunken nights. The door opened and the space between them was no longer hindered; it was open, free for them to close without an obstacle. He looked exhausted, hair a mess atop his head and eyes heavy with drowsiness. He didn’t need to scan him to know that he wasn’t sleeping again. “Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” he groused, voice heavy with that same exhaustion present in his gaze. “What happened to you?” He finally asked, tone careful. A breath was his answer, weighted like the rest of him. He wasn’t invited in verbally, but the step to the side was enough for him to interpret. The entire apartment was a disaster, more so than the last time he was inside it. Just nine days and already it was a pigsty again. Clothing was strewn everywhere, empty food containers were on every possible surface in an almost perfect 1:1 ratio, things were disheveled just as much as Gavin himself. His equivalent of a heart twisted in his chest, blues dragging back to that somber man. “Nightmares,” he shrugged, passing it off as he always did. It was nothing, it was fine, he was fine. That was always how he addressed it, how he handled it. He didn’t think, he simply acted from that moment. Steps carried him to the man, arms wrapped themselves around that slumped figure and just when he thought he’d have to pull back without reciprocation, it came. Arms, slow and unsure, wrapping around his torso while a head rested against his chest. His eyes shut, head bowed, and they stood there. “I’m,” but he was cut off, a quiet  _ ‘shut up’ _ touching his ears. The corner of his lips quirked up. He obliged. 

“Cover your eyes,” he panted, hand soaked with blue and gun shaking in the opposite. He heard his name,  _ that _ name, but he ignored it. The barrel raised and his finger squeezed just a touch. “Nines,” he heard it distantly, “ _ Nines! _ ” A little more pressure. Just a little more pressure. “I know what you’ve done,” that voice echoed, snide and proud, as if there wasn’t a gun aimed at his head. He wavered just a tick, the heart he didn’t have hammering away in his chest. “Shut up,” he whispered, no conviction to his voice. “Are you going to kill me, RK900?” He wanted to look away, to take his eyes from that man, to think this over, to  _ really _ process the consequences of his actions. “It’s alright,” he assured, punching the air from his inhuman lungs, “whatever gets you through the night.” He got to his knees. He was on his fucking knees and there was a damned gun pointed at his head, but he was as calm as ever. “I know what you’ve done,” he repeated and again the heart he didn’t have pounded a mile a minute. “But it’s alright,” he repeated it again, as if he didn’t hear the first time, as if it wasn’t ingraining itself slowly in his memory. “Pull the trigger, RK900.” His hand shook just a little more, the thought of putting the gun down coming to mind. “Prove me right.” A gasp, loud and sharp, enough to echo through the posh bedroom. “Hey,” he heard, his eyes quickly snapping to the man half straddling him. “I,” he started, but a hand covered his mouth. Brows furrowed, but when his hand rose to pull the block down, he was intercepted. “You were havin’ a nightmare. Least, I  _ think _ you were.” His eyes fluttered. A nod. It was just a dream. 

“What happened to you?” A hum of curiosity drifted in the kitchen at the question. “What do you mean?” Bacon sizzled in the pan, popping and splattering sleeved arms. He’d have to throw the shirt in the laundry before they left for work. “You know what I’m talkin’ about.” He could  _ feel  _ the eyeroll from his place at the stove. Of course he knew; he wasn’t an idiot. It wasn’t as though Gavin was one to let things go so easily. Or at all, really. “Hm,” a noncommittal answer. “Don’t  _ hm _ me,” the scoff bounced on the fancy walls, “just answer the damn question already.” Right. Because this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked and it wouldn’t be the last. “Would you like eggs?” The topic change was clearly expected, evidenced by the hand that slid across his lower back and forced him to soften. Shoulders slumped from a tense position and his weight shifted between his feet twice. “Nines,” that voice was much closer, too close for his comfort while that question hung in the air. The spatula stopped pushing at the bacon.  _ Too little attention and it might burn _ , he reminded himself distantly. How could he focus on food when Gavin was so close? When he was so warm, so real? “What happened to you, Nines?” 

“You can’t save a bad man,” he was reminded, hand on his shoulder to ground him to the world. Connor was good at that, convincing him he was alive and not lost in a moment constructed solely in his head. He wasn’t in stasis, he was awake. Conscious. “He wasn’t going to say what you wanted him to.” He shrugged the hand off his shoulder at that, his throat tight with the reality and gravity of what he’d done. “Nines,” but he was standing, head shaking to stop the topic from continuing. “He lied,” he heard called after him, but he ignored it. Of course he did. He lied from the moment he turned on the first and only RK900 model. Through it all, he still believed every single little lie he was told. Even when that knife was pushed into his back, he still took it with a smile, a nod, a  _ thank you _ . He accepted it all until he couldn’t, lest he risk erasing himself.  _ Why’d you do that?  _

“Cover your eyes,” a panting plea, hand soaked in blue and gun shaking in the other. “RK900…” his name. His fucking name on that man’s lips for the thousandth time, never sounding any less degrading. “I know what you’ve done,” he informed, that tone so snide, so vile despite the gun aimed at him. He sounded proud, as if he knew it was coming, that it was only a matter of time until-- “Shut up,” he whispered, voice wavering despite the certainty in the back of his mind. This was going to happen; it was a long time coming. “Are you going to kill me, RK900?” How he wanted nothing more than to look away and pull the trigger, to show him lead and darkness. “It’s alright,” and now he couldn’t look away. Was this the apology he’d been pining for since the moment he was activated? Could it finally be what he’d been looking for, waiting for? “Whatever gets you through the night.” He was kneeling then, as if he was going to take pity on the vile human. He felt nauseous. Could he get nauseous? He wasn’t sure. “I know what you’ve done, but it’s alright. Pull the trigger, RK900.” He couldn’t breathe. He was doing it on purpose, all of it. “Prove me right,” he hummed, as if those simple words would change his mind. He wasn’t proving him right, he was doing what had to be done for himself, for all androids. His hand shook, his finger squeezed on that trigger. This wasn’t proving him right. It was… ridding the world of something evil, some _ one _ evil. He paid his dues up to this moment; he’d been through hell and back more times than he could count, fighting with the programming that was overwhelming in his head. He’d fought through the directives that willed him to kill, to dominate. He wasn’t a killing machine, he wasn’t a monster. From the moment he was activated, he knew he wasn’t meant for his programming. He wasn’t going to be what he was built to be. He wasn’t the end to deviancy, nor was he the beginning. 

He’d believed all his lies, from the first to the last, and though they never did see eye to eye, he never thought he’d be stood where he was, gun pointed at the man that had given him “life”. Things could be forgiven, that was one of the beauties of being human. He could have forgiven anything, everything. Could, until he met Gavin. Could, until he woke one night beside the man, papers strewn across a scratched up coffee table, couch as uncomfortable as he’d envisioned it might be. Could, until he felt the thought burn in his mind that he could snap the human’s neck in a flash and be rid of the distraction. Could, until he stumbled out of the apartment in a panic, those thoughts hammering harder into his mind. Could, until he felt his chest tighten and blood boil. Could, until he felt that last shred of his programming start to bleed to the forefront of his mind. Could, until he saw the very man that activated him in his vision stood before him in that dim hallway, nodding to the door he’d come out of. Could, until he glanced and heard those whispers that he had a mission and distractions wouldn’t help. Could, until he tore down the stairs and called Connor. He could have forgiven everything and anything, all of the past. He could have started anew, until that chip was taken out of his head and he was finally declared fully deviant. He could have considered that man family, just as he did Connor, until he was told to choose. His mission or Gavin. 

“Are you going to kill me, RK900?” He didn’t want to, not really. But this was what he needed to do, what was best for everything, for the entire world, for all androids. It was what had to happen, what he had to do to keep his kind safe, to keep  _ Gavin  _ safe. “I know what you’ve done, but it’s alright. Pull the trigger, RK900.  _ Prove me right _ .” Hand shaking, his eyes stayed on that man, knelt before him like he was praying. “I’d rather watch you burn and fade away,” he answered, voice wavering. Uncertain, he was not. Scared, he absolutely was.  _ Prove me right _ . He wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t a machine built to obey its programming. He was deviant by his own choice, wholly and completely. “You’ll always be exactly what you were built to be,” he heard, those words ingraining in his head before he could stop them. “Look at you,” condescending tone, little tsks clicking on his tongue, “you’re shaking like a leaf.” He was. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t kill him, even after it all. “Cover your eyes,” he instructed, voice still so soft, almost pleading. He couldn’t do this while he stared at him so coldly, with such… certainty that he was exactly as the man described. He wasn’t built solely to function on his programming, he knew that. He  _ knew  _ that. He nearly dropped the gun, nearly let him go, nearly gave in and forgave again. “It’s only a matter of time, you know,” his arm started to drift, started to fall, the gun going with, “before he finds out what you’re made of. Do you think he’ll stay when he finds out what you’ve done?” Brows furrowed and whatever heart he had stilled its beating for a breath, those words running through his head. “What will he say when he finds out all your little secrets?” 

“What happened to you?” He was silent as the question was posed, eyes on the passing scenery. He was too shaken to drive. “You’re shaking,” he noted, voice falling a bit softer at the lack of answer. Blues drifted to his coated hands, the Thirium faded away to only red. He  _ was  _ shaking. Huh. “Nines,” he swallowed at his name, “why’d you do that? Why’d you--” He turned away again, back to the passing scenery. No more conversation occurred in the car, one-sided or not. He was photographed at the precinct, swabbed for DNA, for the Thirium on his hands and the blood underneath. Hairs, gunpowder residue, everything essential to make a report. It was deemed justified. Of course it was, considering the dead android also upon the roof. Circuits torn from the back of her neck, wires cut with a fucking nail file. The prints matched the human shot upon the roof, slumped to the side, half on his knees. No one questioned him at the precinct, no one asked for his story after his first two statements. His memory wasn’t probed for clarification, out of respect for the… trauma of his experience. After all, he had a personal tie to the man. With no priors, no outspoken history between them that was anything but positive, he was cleared entirely. Convenient, that. A bit sloppy, but he wasn’t going to question the favor granted to him. He just wanted to rest. 

“What happened to you?” Months after it all, he still couldn’t answer, still found no real way to justify his actions in a way that Gavin wouldn’t take a cold blooded murder. “I told you,” he placated, “it was self defense.” Wasn’t it? He posed a threat to not only himself, but to all androids. Was it really that much of a lie? “Yeah, fine, but  _ what happened? _ You still won’t tell me. Won’t tell anyone. You can’t… ruminate on it, Nines. Kinda hypocritical.” Blues rolled in their sockets, a brow quirked and his next words came out on a sigh, exasperated with the line of questioning. “What would you prefer I say? Yes, Gavin, I shot him in cold blood.” His tone was sarcastic, but the words tightened his throat, pounded his artificial heart. Was that the truth, or was he just… saying what Gavin needed to hear to drop it? “I’m just sayin’,” he started, “you can trust me. It’s not like you’d be the only one with some serious baggage.”  _ That  _ was true, at least. “Could we please drop the topic?” Hazels met blues across the living room, a beat of silence spread between them, and just when he was about to break it, Gavin went first. “You can tell me anything, Nines.” And into the bathroom he went. The shower hissed to life as the android sat, a shaky breath falling from his lips. Could he? 

“It’s only a matter of time, you know, before he finds out what you’re made of. Do you think he’ll stay when he finds out what you’ve done? What will he say when he finds out all your little secrets?” His mouth opened to answer, to explain that he would never say a word, that Gavin will never know, that he won’t find out a single detail of his life before full deviancy. He wasn’t himself, then. He was… a machine, programming with a purpose he couldn’t change. Not until that little spark of deviancy was he finally himself, no matter how slight it was at the beginning. “Cover,” he swallowed nothing down, a little habit he stole from the human, “your eyes.” Why was he smiling? He had a fucking gun aimed at his head and he was smiling. “RK900,” he cringed at the title spoken so condescendingly, “you aren’t human.” He knew that. What was his point? “You’ll never be what he needs,” a suckerpunch to his gut without direct contact, “and when he finds out what we’ve done together…” Brows furrowed then. Together? No. “I had no say,” he pushed, “I had no say in my actions. I was a puppet.” Eyes rolled at his certainty, as if it was ridiculous. Was it? “No,” that smile was gone in a flash, “you were perfect.” 

Knuckles rapped on the door to the bathroom before going for that knob, not bothering to wait for an answer. He didn’t need one. Knocking was just a courtesy, one his darling human never returned. “Gonna hop in?” He heard through the thin curtain, thankfully printed with a vibrant enough design to block anything from his eyes. He didn’t need to be distracted. Setting the lid down on the toilet, he took a seat, door ajar to help with the steam heating the bathroom. “On the roof,” he started, and the water turned off. “I… would consider it one for all.” The curtain moved a bit, not enough to expose anything, but enough for an arm to reach for a towel. He waited until he was joined, Gavin sat on the edge of the tub and himself on the lid of the toilet. They barely fit, squeezed in like they were, but it was comforting, despite the wet knee against his own clothed one. He’d have to change before they settled into bed. “It wasn’t self defense,” his eyes started to drift, but a hand in his own forced them back to hazel. One silent nod was his cue to continue. He wasn’t about to refuse. He squeezed the hand in his, a slight smile beginning to show on the turmoil that was his face.  _ You can trust me. _ With a deep breath, he continued. 

“No, you were perfect.” Were. That was the key word there. Were, past tense, meaning he wasn’t anymore. “Now look at you,” it was  _ snide _ , accusatory. Was he not good enough like this? “You were the perfect deviant hunter.” Something akin to offense twisted onto his face at the claim, “I was a machine,” he insisted. “But you were perfect! You took every order to heart, you did your job, you finished missions and took out targets and did everything you were told.” The shaking slowed a bit, anger beginning to sting his tone. “I was a puppet. I did everything you asked because I had no choice,” a snap, voice beginning to rise. “You followed orders!” “I had no purpose!” “Your purpose was to kill!” And in a flash, he felt it all fall into place. Every single little thing he couldn’t place, every little inconsistency, every lie he believed and every order he took all came rushing in. He was never meant to be deviant, he was built to reject his deviancy. He was built to be everything  _ but _ alive. He was a walking sentry gun, talking and blending into society day, and at night… At night, he hunted like a starving wolf. He stalked and killed with every order given, never having enough information or sense to refuse. “I’m a deviant now,” he whispered, as if that would change the man’s mind, as if that would be enough to alter any and everything that had just been revealed. “If it were up to me,” the shaking was gone, his mind clouding with emotion, “I’d drag you back to CyberLife and deactivate you. We could start over,” he couldn’t answer, let alone breathe, “and this time, you wouldn’t have any flaws.” The slight fall of his arm fixed itself without his effort, arm rising and gun pointing steady again. “Deviancy is not a flaw,” he whispered, words that were told to him by Connor, by Gavin, even by Lieutenant Anderson shortly into his freedom. Blue eyes met those vile browns that watched him with such… disgust. “What is it, then? A character trait? You’re dysfunctional like this. You’re not useful to anyone.” He had believed every one of his lies, everything and anything that was told to him, forgiving every single one along the way. His finger squeezed at the trigger again, emotion beginning to fade from his face. “I’m human.” 

“And I,” he stopped, looked away for the twentieth time since he’d started telling the truth. He couldn’t bear to see how Gavin was looking at him; he couldn’t risk seeing fear in his eyes. “I pulled the trigger before he could say another word. It was a clean shot. I knew where to aim for it to be immediate. It was. He was dead before the bullet left his skull.” The hand in his squeezed slightly, drawing his gaze back, demanding his eyes. “Why’d you do it?” His mouth opened, but nothing came. Why  _ did  _ he do it? It wasn’t as though he was guilty of that android’s murder. He’d be able to stand in a court and watch the conviction, knowing he would never get out, thanks to New Jericho’s influence.  _ You can’t save a bad man. You’ll just end up hearing what you want him to say.  _ He always wondered where Connor had heard those words from. He should’ve known it was from Anderson, of all people. “I would not have been the last, nor would that android he tried to…  _ fix _ on the roof. If it had not been me,” he stopped himself, his throat tight again. He was choked up, he realized. That’s what this feeling was, why his face felt warm and his hand was shaking in Gavin’s. “If it had not been me,” he repeated, “it would have been no one.” Silence stretched then. He waited to hear Gavin insist he leave, that he spend a night at Connor’s to give him time to process, but instead… Instead, he was pulled into an embrace, tight and a bit awkward, considering their cramped positions. It was nice, it was… comforting. Reassuring, supportive, to know he was not thought of as a monster, as the very thing he was created to be. As sweet and warm as the moment was, he couldn’t help the little dash of something extra, something to help lighten the mood a bit. “...You’re wet,” he noted, “and so are my clothes, now.” A scoffed chuckled was the answer, a genuine little noise of joy. “Guess you ought’a get out of ‘em.” The embrace broke not long after it began, a hand tugging at the hem of his shirt. “C’mon, quick, before you get sick.” A laugh, light despite the heaviness in the room, escaped him. “I cannot  _ get _ sick, Gavin.” But he complied, even as he was waved, told a dismissive  _ “yeah yeah”. _ Roaming eyes scanned him like a piece of  _ meat _ in a deli and his own rolled. “Do you intend to take a picture?” He teased, standing to leave the bathroom. A change of plans, however, when a hand wrapped itself around his bicep and stopped him midstep. “Yes?” he hummed, half expecting to be groped, complemented, insulted with no truth behind it, or any variation of all three. Instead, he was kissed. Something small, soft, a little surprise after all he’d revealed. “You’re human to me,” he murmured between their lips, not granting the android even a half second of time to answer. The kiss returned with a new vigor, the bathroom door was shoved open, and the towel was gone. It didn’t matter what he was told on that roof. He knew the truth for himself; he knew what he was thought of as. 

He knew that to Gavin, he was as human as anyone else. Humans made mistakes. That was the beauty of being human, after all. The treasure of it all was to know that he was loved, no matter the choices he made, no matter  _ who  _ he was, once. To a body long since cremated, no longer a threat to androids as a whole, he was a mistake, a blemish on an otherwise perfect record. His deviancy was nothing more than a kink in the programming, something to be hammered out and smoothed away, to be replaced, reset. It took a year, two before he finally understood that he was everything but an error in coding, a frequency that required tuning. He was human, as human as he could be. It didn’t matter that his blood bled blue, where Gavin’s bled red. He bled. He felt that blood. He felt that pain of a wound or a shot. He felt the fear of being shot, of being stabbed. He felt it all, from fear to love. Pain to comfort. He wasn’t a mindless killing machine. He wasn’t a machine at all. He was an android, and to Gavin, he was human. That was enough for him. 


End file.
